


The power to believe again

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, takes place immediately after the end of 8x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 15:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: She woke up this morning completely terrified of the future, with the weight of his career dangling precariously on her shoulders.





	The power to believe again

Harvey slips out of her and collapses on the bed by her side. She’s lightheaded with the slight hyperventilation, can feel beads of sweat covering her body and her hair clinging to her neck. Everything that’s touching the sheets beneath her is too warm and everything now laid bare from his lack of contact is cool. Oxytocin and dopamine tangle sweetly inside of her. She is completely and pleasantly spent. 

For the first seconds all she can focus on is her breathing, hearing his breathing too. Then she heaves a sigh and rests her arm against her forehead, finally calming down and stopping to think about what actually just happened. 

She woke up this morning completely terrified of the future, with the weight of his career dangling precariously on her shoulders. And Thomas’ visit had sealed the deal. She was more tangled in her Harvey web than ever, despite being with a nice guy who was completely worth a shot. She had refused to go to the hearing because watching Harvey smash a glass in his office last night had been proof that he had lost faith. And if he loses faith, Donna knows there is no faith to be had. 

She had sat on her couch impatiently all day, unsure of whether she should be there, unsure of whether she should just tell the truth and get what would have been coming for her if Harvey hadn’t stepped in. She broke privilege, not him. Her stomach had churned and she’d eaten little and she’d worried. 

Until he banged on her door and she saw his face; guilt and fear and relief, marked by that little sigh. Everything that had always been so complicated between them suddenly became so simple. Something automatically settled inside of her, as if she found what she was looking for. And she just knew. 

And the words “make love” had never been clearer to her. The spark was familiar from other times. But she felt such a novel surge of affection for everything he did, every kiss and stroke, every time he thrusted. Harvey made love to her, and she made love to him. And this time there were no words needed, she heard everything she needed to hear from his body. 

She chuckles silently in disbelief at all that changed in a couple of hours, eyes closing and hand rubbing her forehead in shock. 

She hears his head turning on the pillow, senses him watching her. “This really happened,” she offers by way of explanation, halfway between a statement and a question, voice rough and airy and still surprised. He lets out a puff of laughter, “Yeah.” She stares at her ceiling once more, hand sliding onto the bed. There are so many things she wants to say - and she figures she should say one of them soon or he’ll start to get nervous - but she can’t settle on the right choice. 

She buys herself some time by drawing the covers and slipping beneath them, notices him doing the same. She smooths her palm against the soft sheets and finally looks at him. He’s still watching her and his eyes are harder to read than before. 

“You okay?” she half-whispers at the slight turmoil in his face. She feels the turmoil too; more than a decade of doubts and fears can’t be this easily undone, she’s sure of it. He nods and his face softens. “Yeah,” he whispers back and smiles a little. She surveys his face, his slightly reddened lips, his mussed hair, reminds herself that she did that. The moans and the hands and everything, it was all her. It’s a little surreal. 

“Donna,” he starts and she gets a chill from his serious tone. “You know this isn’t just... _this_,” he punctuates by looking down at their bodies, naked under the covers, “for me, right?” And the chill is gone, and she is overcome with emotion. She nods, “This isn’t just _this_ for me either.” “Good,” he concludes and lays his hand between them, palm up. 

She takes it without thinking, because she can now. She can touch him however she likes. She can say things like that. She can feel everything she’s been trying not to feel for the past fourteen years. It’s a little overwhelming, seeing their relationship change so infinitely so quickly. She’s wanted this for so long, but she’s also spent this whole time being his friend, despite her wish for more. She’s not used to this, and being in unknown situations makes her nervous. 

She gives his hand a squeeze, “I should clean up.” He nods softly and she gets up, picking up her underwear on the way to the bathroom. She closes the door and stares at herself in the mirror. 

Holy. Shit. 

She washes her face, freshens up, repeats to herself that this is real, that Harvey wants this, that this can work. Post-sex has always been sort of a weird time for her, a time when she really stops and takes stock of what just happened. And this is definitely the most shocking stock she’s ever taken. 

She combs her hair and puts on some lip balm, then goes back out to her bedroom and puts on a loose t-shirt. His clothes are collected on her armchair and he’s not there; she hears some noise towards the living room instead. She finds him leaning against her kitchen counter with a glass in his hand, boxers and his shirt on, looking sexy as hell. 

“I got myself some water, hope you don’t mind,” he says, sounding slightly contrite, and it’s utterly endearing this combination of him knowing his way around her house and yet being a little embarassed. She shakes her head with a smile and takes the glass from him when he offers it to her, feeling the fresh water run down her throat. 

“Are you hungry? I can make us something,” she says after a minute of silence. “I...” he frowns as if he remembered something, “Never actually had dinner.” She sets the glass down and roams through her fridge, selecting items. She bats his offers to help away and he settles next to her stove, where she makes them a mushroom frittata. He likes homemade food, she knows that, and he likes eggs. She likes mushrooms and herbs. And, it turns out, she likes cooking for him, even though she usually doesn’t like cooking at all. 

They eat on the counter, facing each other. He seems content and she smiles at him. He’s in her kitchen, eating something from her fridge at midnight, after having slept with her in her bedroom. “What?” he asks then, mouth curling up in a little smile of its own. Her instinct is to say it’s nothing, but she wants to open up, to be brave for them. 

“I’m happy,” she utters softly and stares into his eyes. They’re warm and kind and she loves him for it. She loves him. 

He gets up and rounds the counter towards her. She turns on her stool in time for him to step between her legs, set his hands on her waist, kiss her neck softly and hug her. Really hug her. It’s been a while since they last hugged, and his face pressing against her shoulder is comforting. She feels him breathe and all the tension leaves them. It was a long day and a long decade, but they’re here now. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he mutters suddenly into her neck and she tightens her arms around him. She shakes her head slightly, because it stings a little that they could have had this earlier, that she could have saved herself so much heartbreak. But, “It wasn’t all you,” she answers honestly, “And there’s nothing we can do about it now. So let’s just let that go.”

He nods and pulls back, though his hands remain on her. “I want everything,” he says quietly and she isn’t sure what he means at first. But then she’s transported back a couple of years, yelling at him in his office, sharp words exchanged between them about “everything” and its meaning. She knows now. 

“I want everything too,” she replies, tone just as soft. His hand cups her cheek, he runs his thumb over her lip. And then he’s kissing her again. They’re kissing and hugging and it’s slow and tender. Neither makes a move to go further. They don’t need to. She’s happy, so completely and fully happy she feels she could burst into a million bubbles that would float up to the sky. 

They’re here now. And it’s the most beautiful place she’s ever been. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song Love Is Mystical by Cold War Kids.
> 
> This fic exists as a sort of parallel universe to It’s either hell or high water and Love will break the chains, as different versions of what could have happened that night.


End file.
